Brothers Scorned
by Capitan Canada
Summary: He froze as the blade rested on his throat. His eyes were full of surprise, not just by the blade, but the fact that it was a hidden blade, one only used by the Assassins. At least that's what he had thought.
1. Chapter 1

The city was still swimming with unrest. His city, his home, was broken. It was fitting, really, because he himself was broken as well. It had been a few months since that night, yet he remembers every second of it like a waking nightmare. Him trapped, her fighting, then a flash—

Arno begins to climb up the chateau, hoping some fresh air will give his mind some respite from his wayward thoughts. Climbing had always been freeing for him, just another way to run from his problems. If there was one thing he was good at, it was running.

Just not when it mattered.

Shaking his head, he gripped the final ledge leading to the roof of the chateau. He perched himself on the ledge overlooking Paris. He bowed his head underneath his hood and had a moment of silence for the city and her people. If he failed to protect the one person who mattered, how could he even hope protect them. Arno sighed and looked down at his hidden blade, the insignia of the assassins marking its origin, reminding him of another failure.

He still hadn't gone back to the assassins, not yet anyway. He had run into some novices who came with a message of reconciliation from the council. They had said that they would be wiling to give him a second chance, yet there were no condolences for the loss of his bien-aimé, nor any apologies for their failure to listen to my warnings. He had told them he would consider, but that was six weeks ago.

Arno looked again over the city, lost in thought. Suddenly, he sensed he was no longer alone. Despite being away from the assassin order for more than a year, the training never goes away, it just gets used for different purposes. Now, as he was perched on the edge of the building, he could feel a presence approaching him from behind. The person, a man, probably older than 50, by the sound and weight of how he walked, was nearly silent. Any ordinary person wouldn't have noticed anything wrong, but Arno could tell when someone was trying to walk unnoticed.

He could see two options: one was to wait until l'étranger got within range and use his hidden blade to stab him through the heart. The other option was to let l'étranger do what he came for, which was most likely a version of the first option where he himself was the one getting stabbed.

Or, he thought, maybe there is a third option.

And with that he took a deep breath and leapt off the building. As he jumped, he had heard l'étranger run quickly to the edge of the chateau where he had previously been. The assassin could hear the muttered curse as he fell and a small smile tugged at his lips. He landed with a thud in a large pile of hay lying on the road.

He rolled out from the hay and began to sprint down the road. He wove between the people, slid under carts, vaulted through houses quickly apologizing to the disturbed residents. As he turned a corner, he chanced a glance behind him to see if he was being followed. He concentrated and used his second sight to see if there were any enemies behind him, any flashes of red.

He raised his eyebrows as he found nothing, not even a trace of red anywhere in his vision. Blinking away his second sight, he continued at a jog and finally came to a stop in a small courtyard. He took in a deep breath and sighed. Part of him almost hoped l'étranger was following him; the chase had done well to take his mind off his self loathing. His curiosity about the absence of the man continued to nag at him, however.

Suddenly, it hit him like a brick wall. Or, in this case, like an older man tackling you to the ground from a rooftop. He groaned, both at his own stupidity and from the weight of the man who had tackled him. How could he have been such an idiot? The man had followed him from the rooftops. Now, he lay on the ground, l'étranger pinning him down.

Now that he had a moment to actually look at l'étranger, he wasn't surprised that he was correct in his assumption of the man's age, he looked to be in his early sixties. His hair, which was pulled back, had mostly turned grey save for several strands that had retained their jet black color. There was a long scar stretching from his forehead, across his right eye, and down to his cheek. His face was hardened and grim and his eyes were cold. Despite his hardened look, Arno could see the ghost of a smile as he had the young assassin pinned.

What caused Arno pause was seeing the man's clothes: dark, layered, very similar to that of the assassins. What caught his eye was the insignia embroidered on the outfit— a red cross.

A Templar.

After seeing this, Arno began to move in an attempt to push the old Templar off but suddenly the glint of metal shot out from his wrist, a hidden blade stopping just short of his jugular. He froze as the blade rested on his throat. His eyes were full of surprise, not just by the blade, but the fact that it was a hidden blade, one only used by the Assassins.

At least that's what he had thought.

They sat there for a moment at a stalemate, the Assassin at the mercy of the Templar. Arno tried not to fidget, becoming quite uncomfortable and stiff from the weight of the man. The Templar, on the other hand, remained as stoic as ever, blade still secured against his prey's throat.

Arno couldn't take the silence anymore and was about to speak when the Templar began speaking instead.

"Looks like the Assassin's will let anyone join their ranks nowadays," the man said in a low voice, full of contempt. Arno made a movement to object when the blade pressed into his throat, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to shut him up "Don't speak unless I give you permission."

Arno resigned to glaring at the Templar. Ignoring this, treating his glares like the actions of a child, the Templar relaxed ever so slightly. "Do you speak English?" He asks in French, but his accent is strong, and most definitely not French. Arno has half a mind not to answer, so he continues glaring. The Templar chuckled as he looked down at his prey, "Very well then, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," he began in English, "we're going to get up, walk out to the carriage, and have ourselves a little chat,"

Arno was already making plans for his great escape as the Templar slowly stood up. He gestured for the Assassin to follow and he did, pulling himself up, neither one taking their eyes off the other. Once they were up, the Templar nodded behind Arno who took a quick glance to see that there was, indeed, a carriage waiting outside the courtyard. With a flick of his wrist, the hidden blade slid back into place beneath the dark sleeves. The Templar moved his hand, showing Arno the way to the carriage.

Arno turned away from the Templar toward the carriage, but a sly grin broke onto his face, time to set his plan in motion. He would unsheathe his hidden blade and lash out at his foe, pushing him back onto the defensive. He would then use this distraction to slide under the carriage and then up to the rooftops. From there he could go anywhere in the city, and would lose the Templar in no time.

He had taken a few steps toward the carriage as a show to the Templar that he would go with him. Suddenly, he turned back to the templar and made his move to activate his hidden blade. The Templar didn't flinch or even look the slightest bit surprised, but Arno did. His hidden blade was still securely in place, not exposed and ready to be plunged into the templar's chest like he had planned. Arno tried to force the blade out when he heard the Templar chuckle again.

Arno looked up and saw that he was holding out a small piece of metal, which we could only assume was a piece of the mechanism for his hidden blade. Obviously the Templar had sabotaged the device while he had him pinned. Arno flashed the Templar an embarrassed grin as he turned and tried to salvage what he could of his failed escape plan. He took off towards the carriage and as he was about to slide underneath, his vision went black for a moment and he ungracefully plummeted to the ground. He looked up as his vision began to fade, drifting into unconsciousness.

The last thing he saw was the old Templar turning his pistol back around and putting it back into his holster as he waved the guards who had been waiting beside the carriage to take the downed assassin.

 **AN:**

 **Here is a new story! Was going to be a one shot, but I thought it would be better to split it up into two parts. I will come out and say that I have not played either AC:Rogue or AC:Unity (So sorry if characters aren't quite themselves), but I watched playthroughs of both and I actually really liked the stories and wondered why they never mentioned Shay at all in Unity. Like, for a game completely centered on revenge, you'd think that would have been a good storyline, but, I guess not. So here is my little rendition of what Arno's meeting with Shay could have been like.**

 **Obviously this happens after the main game but I haven't taken account of any DLC or anything, so one could say that this is AU after the game. If enough people like this, I may continue it past only two chapters, but I don't think it needs to be a long story anyway.**


	2. Chapter 2

A ringing in his ears was the only thing that greeted Arno as he awoke. He tried opening his eyes, but his vision was blurred. He shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs, but doing so made him extremely nauseous. With a sharp intake of breath, he screwed his eyes shut. He sat there for a couple moments slowly breathing in and out. He dared to open his eyes again, but this time the world was much clearer. He took in his surroundings.

All around him were various crates and barrels, a storehouse of some kind, he thought. The lack of windows, wood columns, and mustiness of the room also told him the room was underground holding up a larger building, a basement he guessed. He couldn't hear anything coming from above other than typical sounds of people passing by on the street.

Arno tried to lift his hands but found he was incapacitated. He was sitting in an old wooden chair on the far end of the room, his hands shackled behind his back. The shackles themselves were joined with a chain that was attached to the floor. Arno tested the shackles and chain but found they were quite secure, not uncomfortable, but tight enough to restrict his movements significantly.

Whilst he tested the chains he realized that the weight on his arms seemed off. Craning his neck back he found that his hidden blades had been removed. Now that he was more aware, he noticed all of his weapons had been removed, including the Sword of Eden. His momentary panic subsided when he noticed them in a pile on a small table at the other end of the room.

"Merde," He sighed as he hung his head not in defeat, but in exasperation, "I'd be lucky if I could get out of here before anyone shows up…"

"Better start making you're own luck, at least, that's what I do."

Arno's head shot up as he noticed the Templar standing on the other side of the room, casually leaning against one of the wooden columns. Arno could have sworn the Templar was smiling at him, but the room was only lit by a single candle and the Templar stood far from it's warm glow. The old man began speaking again, "Do you always talk to yourself?"

"Usually only when I believe I am alone—" Arno said under his breath, "Have you been there this whole time?" Arno asked. The Templar pushed himself off the column so he was standing up straight, but he stayed standing on his side of the room. He crossed his arms as he sized up the Assassin. The silence was thick, and if there was one thing Arno couldn't stand, it was silence.

"You might as well tell me what you want," Arno sighed, "You obviously don't want me dead or you would have killed me in the courtyard," Arno looked over at the Templar to confirm his theory, when the man made no indication that he was wrong he continued, "Which is slightly troubling because that either means that you need information, or your orders were to keep me alive," He paused again to look at the Templar. He had slightly bowed and shook his head, a smirk on his face, "Or, I could be missing a few details."

"While I am in France on assignment from the Order, it had nothing to do with you, Arno Dorian," Arno's eyes went wide for a moment before he could mask his surprise. The Templar was quick to notice and took a step toward Arno, "As I said when we first met, I had only wanted to talk—"

"Yes, the blade to my throat and the shackles really got that message across."

"Well, you were the one who opted to do things the hard way. Besides, you would have known my allegiances the second you saw me and you would have tried a lot harder to run—"

"What could a Templar possibly want to talk to an Assassin about?" Arno questioned.

"Not just an Assassin," The man said carefully, "I wanted to talk to you."

Arno couldn't hide his confusion any longer, "Who are you?"

"My name is Shay, Shay Patrick Cormac," He took another step toward Arno, "And you and I are not all that different." Arno shook his head. The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something from a dream, but he could not place it. Instead he decided to glare up at the Templar.

"I highly doubt that," Arno bit back.

"Let me see if I have this right," Shay began to pace in front of Arno, "you discovered the truth, in this case, about Germaine. Innocents were in the line of fire, you decided to intervene, to protect those you care about and how did the Brotherhood respond?" Shay paused and looked back to Arno, "They abandoned you, discarded you like a piece of trash— please, stop me if I'm wrong," He waited for Arno to object, but he remained silent, "They never acknowledge their wrongdoing…"

Arno sat thinking about what this Templar was saying. Although he was leaving out details, he couldn't argue with the fact that it had happened. The Brotherhood had abandoned him, only recently had they tried to make amends and even then, it wasn't much of an effort. It's also not like rejoining the Brotherhood will make things right, nothing can undo what has been done. Shay began speaking again.

"They didn't even offer condolences for your loss of Miss de la Serre, I assume,"

"Don't," Arno growled.

"My apologies, Arno—"

"Your apologies cannot undo the damage that has been done by your Templars," Arno's voice was low, daring the Templar to enter this dangerous territory.

"While Germaine was operating under the intentions of strengthening the Templar order, he was an extremist," he said coldly, "he decided to take matters into his own hands, to wipe out the old order and implement his own. I had been originally charged with putting him back in his place. Imagine my surprised when I arrive in Paris to an almost completely wiped out Templar faction."

"You seriously expect me to accept that? What about all the other Templars that followed Germaine?" Arno yells in frustration at the old Templar, "You can't tell me that none of them were working under the authority of your Order!"

"What about François de la Serre?" Shay asked abruptly.

"Wh-what? He's different—"

"No," The old man interrupts, "he was a Templar, a Grand Master in fact. I know how you came to be in his care," Arno glares at the man but says nothing, "Imagine his shock to see an Assassin, his enemy dead, and there standing next to him a scared little boy, now fatherless. You must realize that any other Templar in his shoes would have left you in the nearest gutter." Arno was quiet as he processed what the Templar was saying. Taking Arno's silence as an indication, Shay continued. "Instead, he took you in, raised you, educated you. He didn't involve you in the Templars out of respect for your late father. Even though his actions did not reflect the Order as a whole, we believed he made the right decision and supported him in his endeavors," there was a touch of pride in Shay's voice.

"Like I said, he was different," Arno said, less fire in his voice than before.

"But still a Templar."

Arno could have argued, but he conceded because, yes, he had been a Templar, there was no point in denying that fact. They stayed in silence for a while, neither saying a word. Shay pulled a chair over and sat in front of Arno about two feet away. He began idly inspecting his pistol as Arno watched. Finally, Arno cleared his throat, deciding to change the subject.

"How did you deactivate my blade?" Shay glanced up at the Assassin. Arno continued, "Back in the courtyard? And on that note how do you have a hidden blade. Last I checked that was the weapon of the Assassins."

Arno was startled when the Templar in front of him laughed, not just a chuckle, but a full on laugh. Arno eyed him suspiciously as the man collected himself. "You really aren't that smart are you?" He leaned back as Arno glared at him, obviously not nearly as amused at the situation.

"I can only assume you killed an Assassin and stole his blade," Arno accused.

"But that wouldn't explain my knowledge of the inner workings of such a blade, now would it?" Shay rebutted watching as the cogs in Arno's head whirred searching for some other explanation. Finally, he perked up.

"I can't believe I am so thick," he said to himself then looked up at the old Templar, a slight flash of horror hanging over his face, "You used to be an Assassin."

"Astute deduction," Shay spoke, sarcasm dripping from his short response.

"Why?" Arno questioned.

"Like I said," Shay tilted his head to look back at Arno, "You and I are not so different."

"Our stories may have their similarities, but that doesn't change the fact that you joined the Templars, the enemy!" Arno leaned forward in the chair, tugging his chains taught, "Your kind has brought nothing but pain to this country—"

"My kind?" Shay asked incredulously, "We don't hide away in towers and work in the shadows, that would be the assassins. We are simply people trying to make the world a better place."

"By controlling people," Arno spat back, "that is what you Templars do, right?"

"Sometimes it is better to exercise control and keep people safe rather than let them run around getting themselves killed."

"You can't possibly believe that would happen!"

"Oh but it did Arno," Shay stood towering above the assassin, "It happened, in France. You are living in the aftermath of it."

Arno was about to respond when he stopped. How many people had died when the country tore itself apart? How many people suffered? Arno thought it may have been easier to count the people who were unaffected by the revolution. The assassins did little to help the people, the Templars were equally at fault, though.

"But the Templars," Arno spoke softly, as if trying to convince himself, "those monsters…" They started this revolution, started all this pain. Didn't they?

Shay sighed as he slowly walked over to Arno. Sensing the assassin wouldn't resist, he placed a strong hand on his slumped shoulder. He could feel the young assassin flinch at his touch, but he kept his hand where it was, "Sometimes, it's easier to hate someone when you begin to think of them as less than human, as monsters. The Assassins paint a skewed portrait of the Templars; they say that we are trying to enslave the people. In reality, we are trying to protect them."

Arno didn't respond. He knew he hated the Templars, after what they had done to the De la Serre's. But, was the right way to respond really with the Assassins? It isn't as if they weren't at fault either.

"While both the Templars and the Assassins have hurt you in the past, remember the young boy who was taken in, not by one of your father's assassin brothers, but by his enemy," Shay moved around behind Arno. Arno didn't say anything, but hung his head low. He perked up suddenly when he heard a key unlock his shackles. As the weight dropped off his wrists he sprung up from his chair, whirling around to look at the older man. He was placing a key into one of the pockets on his coat. Arno looked at him in confusion.

"The reason I'm telling you this is to try and help you understand," Shay began, keeping his distance from the jumpy assassin, "The Templars are truly trying to make the world a better place. From what I have seen and heard of your exploits, I know you want the same thing. You aren't going to accomplish that goal by ending lives, but by protecting them."

"What are you saying?" Arno took a slow step back as the Templar took one step closer. Shay grabbed a small amulet from his pocket, he held it out and nodded for Arno to take it. Arno slowly approached, still unsure of the Templar, but grabbed the Amulet. He turned it around in his hand, noticing the symbol of the Templar Order etched into the design, the red cross. Arno gave a small chuckle as he looked at the Templar as if he were a mad man, "Are you asking me to join the Templars?"

"I am giving you a chance to make things right, to join us in saving the world, starting with France." Shay responded. He walked around Arno over to where his weapons lie. Arno stiffened as he saw Shay pick up the Sword and inspect it. Suddenly Shay threw the Sword to Arno, who nearly fumbled trying to catch it. He looked dumbfounded at Shay as he gathered the rest of his weapons and gave them to Arno. "I am asking you, as one brother scorned by the Assassins to another." Shay moved his arm to direct Arno's gaze towards a staircase.

"So you're just going to let me leave?" Arno asked doubtful.

"Yes."

Arno made his way up the staircase, giving a suspicious look back at Shay as he went. He expected a trap once he made it to the top of the staircase, but none came. He followed the stairs to the rooftop and stood near the edge, taking in the city once again. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him and knew them to be the old Templar's.

"At least think about my offer. Put the Creed aside and listen to what you know to be true. I'll find you once you've made your decision." Shay then went back down the stairs, leaving Arno alone on the rooftop. The young frenchman looked over the city from the roof. He saw a bale of hay lying next to the building, knowing he could easily fall into the hay to exit the rooftop, taking the leap of faith.

But he paused. That would be something an Assassin would do, and right now, Arno wasn't sure what he was.

 **AN:** **Alright! Here is part two! I ended up rewriting this multiple times because I was having trouble with how the characters would react to what the other was saying. I hope they aren't too out of character! I am thinking about just ending it here, but I may write one more chapter to show what Arno's decision is, and** ** _maybe_** **one more after that. But I probably won't unless you guys ask for it. So I guess if you want another chapter, leave a review!**


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